


Al-Isra

by Morgana



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was, and there was not, in the most ancient of days, one girl. One girl in all the world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Al-Isra

There was, and there was not, in the most ancient of times, a man who dwelt in a desert camp. He had three children, bright and beautiful, and daily was his heart made glad at the sight of them. The oldest was a girl with hair that blazed like the sun at the end of the day. She was followed by his only son, a young man with dark eyes that held the wisdom of many ages in their depths. Both of them delighted their father, but it was the youngest daughter, golden and shining as the stars, that was first in his love. She was the darling of them all, for she had been Chosen to fight the monsters that lay in wait outside the camp, the beings that slept in the sand until the moon rose, when they walked abroad to steal the lifeblood of the people and their animals.

For three years, she struggled against the beasts, going out each night to do battle with them, returning each morning, often scratched and bitten, but still alive. Her family watched over her with worried eyes, for they all knew that one night she would go out to fight and fail to return. It would be left to them to find her and bring her back to lie with their ancestors, all the while praying that she would not rise to join the monsters once they laid her to rest. Night after night passed in this manner, with the girl growing ever wearier, and the beasts would almost surely have claimed her, but for one night that changed everything.

The son had gone to trade with the city-dwellers a great distance away, and should have stayed in the city for the night. But the city walls made him uncomfortable, and his heart cried out for the desert sands and warm winds, so as soon as his trading was done, he turned towards home. He rode as fast as he could, but even the strongest horse must rest, and when the sun set, he was still far from his father's camp. When the sand beneath his horse's hooves began to stir, he kicked the animal into a hard run, flattening against its back, praying that he might find some shelter before the monsters overtook him.

As if Allah heard his desperate pleas, he caught sight of a single tent near an oasis. Turning his horses towards it, he raced for the safety of water and the faint light that he could glimpse that spilled out onto the ground through the tent's opening. The ground churned beneath his horse, and as it fell, the boy jumped off and began to run. He could hear the snarls and growls of the beasts as they fed, his horse's agonized screams tearing at his heart, but he forced himself forward until he fell to his knees before the tent. “Help me, please!” he cried.

The tent opened, and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen stood in the entrance. She was as different from his sisters as night from day, with pure white skin that seemed to glow above her white dress, dark hair that fell like a midnight cloak over her shoulders, and huge dark eyes that seemed to see right into his very soul. He was transfixed, unable to look away, and when she smiled down at him, he felt that he could have moved heaven and earth if she had but asked it of him. “Come in,” she told him, bending down to help him up. He let her guide him into the tent, where the rich carpets that hung about the walls fairly dazzled his sight. “What were you doing in the desert at night? Don't you know that it isn't safe?”

“I couldn't - my horse -” he stammered, a faint blush rising into his cheeks as she continued to regard him with a small knowing smile. Remembering his manners with an effort, he bent to touch his forehead to the back of her hand. “Thank you, _sayyida_. You saved my life, and if there's anything I can give you to show my gratitude, you have but to ask me.” His father would've been proud of the formal words, even if they felt stilted and wrong coming off his tongue.

She laughed softly. “Oh, _Baba_ would never let me need anything. Come, sit down and eat with us.” Taking hold of his hand, she tugged him further into the tent, closing the flap behind him to shut out the darkness and its monsters. When he managed to look away from her dark eyes, he saw that a meal had been laid out in the large space in the center of the tent. But this was unlike any meal he'd ever seen - it was a feast fit for kings! He stared for several minutes until she laughed again and drew him down onto the cushions, then offered him one rich, delicious dish after another.

Partway through the meal, two men slipped into the tent to join them, and the woman introduced them as her father and brother. They were as unlike each other as night from day, the father being tall and dark like his daughter, with powerful arms and large, rough hands, while the son was almost as slender as his sister, with bright hair and dark blue eyes that seemed to look right inside him. The boy did his best not to look into the mocking depths, but instead kept his own gaze averted and concentrated on the food in front of him.

He never saw the two men exchange a glance that spoke without words, but when they filled his goblet with rich ruby wine, he accepted the drink and mumbled his stuttering thanks for their hospitality. The father laughed and refilled his cup. “Think nothing of it, my boy. Our sweet girl has an eye for those in trouble, and she doesn't like to see any lost to the desert night.” Something flickered in the depths of the older man's eyes before he said quietly, “Her mother was carried off when she was young, and I'm afraid it haunts her still.”

The boy nodded. “My friend was lost before my sister -” He suddenly realized what he'd been about to say, and clamped one hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. Hadn't his father told him never to speak of his sister's sacred calling for fear that she would be taken from them too soon?

“Your sister?” One large hand reached out to lower his. “Does she work against the beasts, then? My son does much the same. He's young yet, but his name has become one to be feared around the fires of man and demon alike.”

The realization that his sister wasn't alone in her fight the way he had always believed was almost too much for the young man to believe. He looked at the men, then slowly began to tell them of his sister - how beautiful she was, how strong and brave, how the fires of righteousness burned in her veins, and how blessed they all were to have her guarding them. Both men listened quietly, breaking in only occasionally to encourage him to tell them more, and as the night wore on and his goblet was filled again and again, he found the stories came easier to his tongue, and he told many of them before he finally succumbed to weariness and followed the girl to the pallet that she had prepared for him.

Only after he had fallen asleep did the older man turn to his companion. “The girl he speaks of - find her. Seek her out and challenge her in my name. These humans... they believe her to be the great warrior that will save them. Show them that it isn't true.”

The next night, long after the boy had risen and started for home, the young man slipped out and followed his trail. A few short hours' travel away, he came across the boy's village, where a pair of figures did battle just outside the small encampment. He moved closer, stealing as near as he could, and what he saw made him catch his breath. A girl fought against one of the beasts, her fists and feet flying as she attacked him. They moved back and forth over the sand, little more than silhouettes in the dark as they traded blows, but eventually she got the better of her opponent, and the brief flash of silver was all he could see of her dagger before she buried it deep in her enemy's chest.

Blue eyes followed her as she retrieved her blade, and just as she straightened, the clouds shifted and moonlight spilled down over her. Her hair shone like a nimbus, and he was amazed all over again at her victory over the demon - she was so small! But then he thought again of the savage and beautiful dance he'd just witnessed and he knew, that no matter what he had been ordered to do, he could not kill this girl.

For three days he hid near her family's camp, following her each night as she moved amongst the darkness, bringing death and pain to the beasts that hunted her. Each morning he lay down with visions of her strength and supple beauty to keep him company as he closed his eyes, and each evening he woke with a growing desire to see her again. Finally he could wait no longer, and when her father came out to tend the horses just before morning, he struck.

Quick as lightning, he slammed the man up against a tree, sliding his blade along his throat, pressing lightly against his skin. “Your daughter - the youngest one - she's special, isn't she?” he asked softly. The man struggled, and he tightened his grip. “She's different from the others.”

The man nodded shortly, his hands tightening into fists as they lay against the tree. “You're a very lucky man, you know,” the blond informed him. “Your daughter has caught the attention of a powerful being, and will become his bride.” His hapless prisoner started to speak, but a brief squeeze silenced him. “Bring her to the oasis four days' ride to the west the in two weeks time. Her husband's tent will be waiting for her.” He started to lower the knife, then paused, and added, “If she's not there, you and your entire encampment will die before sunrise the next day.”

His warning given, the young man slammed the hilt of his dagger into the back of the man's head, then let his body fall to the sand. He sheathed his knife and began to run, knowing that the family would find him soon enough and the girl would almost certainly try to give chase. Sure enough, shouts rose up behind him, followed shortly by angry voices that drew nearer, but by that point, he was well hidden out of their sight, and the search party rushed past without ever knowing he was there. He spent the day in the sheltered cool glade, emerging with the fall of the night to start on his journey home. There would be much to do before his bride came to him, and explaining his failure to kill the girl to his family was the very least of it.

Two weeks later, a mournful caravan trudged up to the oasis, only to find it deserted. “Where is he?” the bride asked, irritation flitting briefly over her face. She might not have asked for a wedding or husband, but being abandoned without so much as meeting him was unfathomable!

“Perhaps he thought better of it,” her father answered. “He may have realized how much we all need -”

Three long blasts of a war horn cut him off, and they all turned to see a man astride a black horse at the edge of the oasis. He wore the long robes of a deep desert dweller, his head covered with a black _keffiyeh_, the edges wrapped around his face until only his eyes were visible. In one hand, he held the reins of a white mare, while the other settled on the hilt of his curved sword. “The girl will come with me,” he commanded, the words ringing out over the still night. “Her husband awaits her in his tent.”

She didn't answer right away, too enraptured at the horse that was obviously to be hers, but eventually she realized what it was her escort had said. “Wait... he's not here?!? He couldn't even come get me himself?”

“He is an important man, _sayyidati_ , but he has a care for your well-being. His fastest horses and strongest man are to see you safely to him.” The messenger studied her, cocking his head to the side for a second. “Time grows short, and we must leave if you are to reach your new home by morning. Say your good-byes and come with me, or your husband's vengeance upon your loved ones will be swift.”

At the reminder of the threat that had brought her here, her breath caught. Turning to her father, tears glimmered in her eyes as she choked out, “Please... I don't want to go...”

“I know,” he assured her, gathering her into his arms for a warm embrace. “But you have to, my dear. This is your duty now.”

Her sister and brother came forward to embrace her as well, each reassuring her of their love and care for her, and wishing her well in her marriage. Neither seemed to notice the way her hands sought to clung to them, and when she turned away from them, only the man on the horse saw the tears that streaked her cheeks. He reached into a satchel that was tied to his horse and withdrew an _abaaya_ that was like nothing she had ever seen, the gold cloth shining in the moonlight as he tossed it to her. “Put it on and come mount your horse,” he ordered curtly.

She wrapped the fabric around herself and cast one last look at her family before she moved to obey him. The horse stood still for her clumsy attempts to seat herself, but despite her struggles, the escort offered no aid. When at last she was atop her mount, he turned his own hose and whistled, the high note making both animals nicker with excitement. A sharp blast of the war horn and they sprang into action, their long legs eating up the miles as they raced over the desert sand. The poor girl could only cling to her mare's neck and weep silently into the warm flesh there, offering up a silent prayer that her husband might prove to be a more forgiving and understanding man than the warrior he'd sent to collect her.

At some point in the long journey, she fell asleep, lulled by the rhythmic rocking of the horse beneath her. She woke to find herself in the midst of a strange tent, and the riches around her nearly dazzled her. Soft, thick carpets with beautiful patterns woven in them caressed her feet and delighted her gaze, while plump silk cushions and downy blankets beckoned to her. But best of all was the copper tub, where steam curled lazily up from the water inside, a luxury she had only dared to dream of! With a shriek of delight, the girl shed her clothes and sank down into the tub, sighing softly as she gave herself over to the pleasure of heated water and sweet-smelling soap.

When she emerged from her bath, her clothes had vanished, replaced by a red and black beaded top, a long black skirt, and a wide red sash. She put the new garments on, surprised by how lightweight the fabric actually was, although she knew she could never fight a demon in them. But that was part of her old life, as her father had said - her new calling was here, at her husband's pleasure. She sank down onto one of the silk pillows, belatedly noticing the tray of dates and palm fruits that lay beside it, wondering if it had been there all along or somehow materialized, as if by magic. Perhaps her new husband was a sorcerer?

She ate and waited, but nobody entered the tent. The day crawled slowly by, hours inching along until she fell asleep again later in the afternoon. When she woke, it was completely dark, and she wasn't alone. Her skin tightened when she realized that someone was in the tent with her, but before she had a chance to ask, she felt hands close around her arms and stroke down to take her hands. She was turned and a mouth came down onto her, kissing her until she felt like she might faint. He backed away to give her a chance to breathe, and she whispered, “You... who are you?”

“Your husband,” a low, pleasant voice informed her. She freed one of her hands and reached for a lamp, but he stopped her. “No. We exist in the darkness, pet. No light, just the heat we make between us, yeah?” She would have asked what he meant by that, but his hand stole up her skirt to touch her intimately, and everything except her husband and his magical touch ceased to matter.

By the time she woke in the morning, the girl was gone, replaced with a woman who knew what it was to cry out at the caress of a man's hand and mouth. She'd fallen asleep just before sunrise, exhausted in the sweetest of ways, wrapped in her husband's arms, but she woke up alone, and only the faint scent of smoke and earth that lingered in the blankets and on her skin told her that the night hadn't been a dream. The day passed much as the one before it had, with food and drink appearing when she wasn't looking. She slept late in the afternoon again, and was woken by her husband's hands peeling her clothing away.

After a week had passed, she began to adjust to the rhythm of the days spent in solitude and the night spent in mind-bending pleasure. She discovered that the mare that had brought her was to be hers, so many mornings were occupied with her grooming and riding, and the afternoon almost always found her napping, only to wake when her husband joined her. He made love to her over and over again through the nights, bringing her to peaks of ecstasy she had never dreamed existed, and when their passion was spent, he would gather her close and whisper to her of his love for her. Falling in love with him in return was so easy that she never questioned it, although she did ask several times that she might be allowed to see his face. But each time he would deny her and then distract her with his kiss, and eventually she forgot about it.

Months flew by with an astonishing rapidity, and she was happier than she ever had been, although she worried for her family. She missed her brother's easy smile, her sister's happy chatter, and her father's wise counsel, but she told herself that they were almost surely well, for wouldn't someone have sent for her if there were problems? It was no substitute for seeing them, however, and eventually her husband realized what was making her so melancholy. He told her she could send for her family, but cautioned her that they might attempt to turn her against him, and on the night before her brother and sister arrived, he held her close and kissed her as though he feared he would never see her again.

When her brother and sister arrived, she welcomed them with open arms, ushering them into her tent and showing them about with pride. She was so happy that she nearly beamed with it, although some it faded when they asked, “Where's your husband?”

“He's, uh... he's tending the horses,” she lied, then hurried to make tea before they could see the guilty look on her face.

Every day for the next week her brother and sister asked the same question, eager to meet her husband, and every day she came up with a new excuse as to why he was never around - he was trading in town, or hunting, or preparing for _ghazzu_. The day before they were to leave, her sister found her standing before a brazier, her eyes dark and haunted. “Your husband isn't here, is she?” she guessed.

To her horror, the whole story came spilling out - how her husband was never there when she woke, but always came to her during the night. By the time she was finished, her brother had joined them, and when she stopped for breath, he said slowly, “Are you sure he's... human? I mean, no offense or anything, but he sounds like - well, like a demon.”

“No!” she protested. “I'd know if he were a demon. I'd feel it!”

“Are you sure? Because there was that night that I was lost... those were demons, and I didn't know. And how you ended up married to him -”

“What do you mean?”

He told her the story of how their father had been set upon and threatened, and how he had later begun to believe that it was a demon that attacked him, a demon that sought to have his beloved youngest daughter betrayed into its care. When the story was at last finished, she shook her head, saying again that her husband was no demon. But she couldn't completely hide the fear or suspicion in her voice, and when they left the next day, her brother pressed a newly carved stake into her hand, telling her to light a lamp in the middle of the night and look upon her husband. If he really were a demon, as he and her father feared, then she would have to stake him.

The next night, she poured her passion out in full when her husband joined her. When he had exhausted himself and lay dozing amid the blankets, she sat up and reached for the lamp she had hidden away before he arrived. Lighting the wick, she carefully turned around, sliding her free hand back to wrap around her brother's stake. She took a step closer to the bed, then looked down and, for the first time, saw her husband. For a long time, she could only stare in wonder - he was beautiful, his high cheekbones and full mouth lending a delicacy to his face that made her want to explore him with both hands and mouth. But if her father was to be believed, this angelic being was the very sort of monster that she was sworn to destroy. Steeling herself for what she knew she must do, she brought the stake whistling down towards his chest. But at the last second, she cried out and twisted her wrist, and the sharpened point cut a jagged line deep into his shoulder instead of burying itself in his heart.

His eyes flew open, dark blue bleeding almost immediately to a blazing gold that burned accusingly into hers in the instant before his arms came up and she was thrown across the room to land in a heap on one of the carpets. “Stupid girl!” he hissed, pressing one hand against his bleeding shoulder. “Just couldn't let it rest, could you? Had to know everything an' now you've ruined it! Was gonna make you immortal, soon as my sire said it was okay, but now you've gone and mucked it up, so live out the rest of what little life you've got without me, cause I'm sure as hell not stayin' with a Slayer that can't trust me!”

She opened her mouth to cry out to him, but the word died in her throat and she could only watch as he snatched up his _thobe_ and stalked off. By the time she managed to get to her feet and run after him, he was gone, and only the wind answered her plaintive call. She sank to her knees on the sand and sobbed into her hands, mourning the loss of her love with all her heart.

For nearly a week, she remained in her tent, hoping somehow that he might relent and come back to her, but he never did. One morning, she decided that she was tired of waiting, and she saddled her horse, determined to go find her husband and beg him to take her back. She rode toward the east, past her father's camp, heading for the oasis where he'd said his sire's encampment was. After nearly four days of riding, her mare stumbled into the camp, exhausted from the long journey. She slid off her back, nearly falling as her legs gave way, but the mare waited until she was standing before she moved away in search of water.

The woman followed her horse, dropping down beside the small pool of water, dipping her hand in for a long drink. Once she'd drunk her fill, she rose and began to look about for some sign that her husband might have come here. A small tent seemed about right, but when she looked into it, she saw a pile of weapons, coated in dried blood and flaking rust, jumbled together in a big heap. Shaking her head over the obvious neglect, she turned around and screamed when she saw a man standing in front of her.

He was huge, taller than anyone she'd ever seen before, and when he crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her with thunder in his eyes, she knew that she was standing in front of her husband's sire. The utter lack of mirth or anything even approaching warmth in his gaze made it clear what his opinion of her was, and when he said in a hard voice, “I should kill you for even entering my camp.”

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I need - I wanted to find my -”

“Your what? It can't be your husband, because you have none.” She jerked as though she'd been slapped, tears filling her eyes, but he seemed to take no notice of them. “My boy's worth ten thousand of you, and I'm not about to let you whimper and cry your way back into his arms.”

Her head snapped up, a fire kindling in her eyes for the first time since her husband had abandoned her. “I just want to talk to him. You can let me do that much, can't you?”

The sudden show of spirit seemed to have puzzled him, and he shook his head. “I don't know. Let me think about it.” He took her wrist and led her towards a poorly constructed shelter, then pushed her inside it. “Stay here until I come for you.”

She curled up on the sand, wrapping her arms around herself. He didn't come back that night, and she was forced to remain where she was through the day that followed, first freezing and then sweltering beneath the midday sun. Shortly after sundown, he returned, glaring down at her, although she couldn't tell if he was upset at seeing her still alive or still angry about what she had done. Seizing hold of her arm, the big man yanked her to her feet and started for the tent she had wandered into the previous night, dragging her stumbling along behind him. Shoving her past the flap, he ordered shortly, “If you're serious about my childe, then show me. Clean and sharpen them all before sunrise, and I'll help you.”

Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned and walked away, leaving her staring at the pile of useless weapons. She bent down to pick one of the smaller knives up, her eyes widening at the sight of the blade mottled with splotches of blood, dirt, and rust. And she was supposed to have them all cleaned by morning?!?

Sighing, she began to gather the weapons up, carrying them out in one armful after another until they were all laying by the pool. She sank down to her knees and picked up the knife again, then reached for one of the dirty cloths she'd found, when a lilting voice said, “Water isn't the answer, little sister.”

The knife clattered back onto the heap and she looked up to see the same lovely woman that her brother had told her about. Amused at her obvious astonishment, the women smiled and said, “You're going about it all wrong,” she repeated, nodding down at the discarded knife.

“How else can I do it?” she asked, a small furrow appearing between her brows as she frowned. “I mean, I've got to clean them all and -”

Silvery laughter floated out onto the air. “The answer's all around you, silly. Like little ants, scurrying and scouring, each little grain a worker as it leaves your fingers.”

“What does that mean?” But there was no reply, only silence as the woman drifted away, and she scowled down at the ground, then picked the dagger up again. Clumps of sand clung to the blade and as she brushed them away, she noticed some of the blood flake off. “Each little grain a worker,” she said softly, slowly sinking her hand into the sand, picking up a handful that she poured over the blade. When she rubbed it again with one of the cloths, more blood and rust came off. Soon, the only dirt remaining on the knife was the sand that she'd used to scour it clean.

She quickly wiped the blade clean, set it aside, and picked up the next weapon. Throughout the night, she worked feverishly, scouring each item and adding them to the growing pile of shining blades. Shortly before dawn, she laid the last weapon down and looked up to see a pair of malevolent dark eyes glowering down at her. Holding her breath, she waited for him to say something, but he just turned and walked away, leaving her to return to the makeshift shelter for the remainder of the day.

After another long, hellish day in which she managed to doze for only brief periods at a time, he came for her again, with orders to groom his horse until his coat gleamed like the evening star. The beast nearly bit her several times, but when she learned that he liked to hear singing, she managed to keep him calm enough to get the task done. Night after night, the demands continued, until she began to wonder if he was ever going to help her, or if he was simply trying to work her to death. Two weeks passed in servitude to an ever more demanding taskmaster, two weeks in which she crawled into her shelter each morning, too exhausted even to weep, and fell into restless dreams of her husband's bleeding shoulder, waking with the memory of his accusing gaze still fresh in her mind.

One night, he dragged her to her feet and took her into the main tent. “My girl needs a maid,” he barked, shoving her towards the dark-haired woman that had told her how to clean the weapons. She stumbled and fell, cringing in expectation of the blow that would almost surely land, but none came, and when she looked up, she saw only the woman sitting on a cushion looking at her. “Come here, little sister,” she murmured, holding her hand out with a smile.

The first kindness since her husband's abandonment brought tears to the young woman's eyes, and she hurried to tend to her benefactor. Hands grown rough from nights of labor struggled to comb and dress the silken lengths of dark hair, and she glanced down at the deep blue _abaaya_ that clothed the other woman, thinking longingly of her own beautiful clothes, which had been exchanged for a coarse wool tunic once she began her travels. Would her husband even recognize her anymore? And if he did, what would he think? Surely he wouldn't love her, not as ragged and unkempt as she was now.

She laid the comb aside with a soft sigh, then started to get to her feet when the woman turned around. Yellow eyes, just like her husband's on the night she'd betrayed him, looked up at her, and she knew she was supposed to fight. But she couldn't bring herself to move, could only stare at her as the woman urged her back down to the cushions and stroked her hand with a light touch. “Poor little sister,” she crooned. “Lost the sun and now you're all alone in the night, but the moon won't talk to you anymore, will it? But I can make it better, dearie, give you back what you lost and set you free to dance. Do you want it?”

From somewhere far away, she heard herself whisper, “Please.” One hand slid into her hair and drew her down, and needle-sharp fangs slid easily into her neck. She couldn't move, could only kneel and whimper as the demoness drank, every swallow stealing away a little more of her warmth while it brought her deeper into a floating sense of peace. By the time the fangs retreated, she was struggling to keep her eyes open, fighting the sleep that tugged at her, although it was so hard - after all, her eyelids were heavy and she was cold, so very cold...

Her eyes fluttered shut, her shallow, raspy breathing the only sound in the tent as the woman eased her down to the cushions and stroked her hair. “So pretty,” she said quietly.

“What did you do?” She looked up at the demand, smiling at the sight of her brother, although he barely noticed, his anguished eyes trained only on the still form of his wife. “Why did you - she was mine, dammit!”

Rising to her feet, she went towards him, placing one hand lightly on his shoulder, thumb stroking the faint scar that was all that remained of his wound. “She still is,” she told him. “You just have to go wake her up.”

He cast a puzzled look at her, but didn't bother to question, too used to her strange comments to wonder what they meant any longer. Going to kneel beside his wife, he gathered her up into his arms, swallowing hard at the sight of the blood upon her throat. With a whispered prayer that she would understand, he bent to lap the ruby droplets up, pausing only when she hovered on the brink of life and death. A swift movement opened his own throat, and he raised her, cradling her close as he pressed her mouth against him. Her lips moved weakly, and soon she shuddered, her life's breath rushing from her one last time.

The moon rose over the desert the next night, just as it always had and always will, and a still form stirred. Green eyes opened, meeting blue ones above them, but the colors soon shifted to a deep gold, burning like the sun that the young woman would never see again. She raised her arms, welcoming her husband back into her embrace, basking in the warmth of his forgiveness and the fire of his love, knowing that she was at last where she belonged, with the one who had claimed her for his wife for all eternity. And so it was, and so it was not, in the time before time, and so it continues, and so it does not, from that day to this.


End file.
